


Ritual

by paxlux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 17:05:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paxlux/pseuds/paxlux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's supposed to rain, the wind is picking up and they have work to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ritual

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old story, so not current, S2, I'd say.

When Sam kisses Dean, the sun is slipping behind the tombstones, making shadows long and open like graves.

It's supposed to rain, the wind is picking up and they have work to do, but somehow Sam finds Dean in the lost half-dark and drags him close enough to do damage.

Which isn't what he wants to do, because he loves his brother and he loves his brother and damage is furthest from his mind, the only damage they'll cause tonight is to a stubborn coffin and the stubborn bones of its furious occupant.

But Dean gasps and Sam knows he's broken something, right there against Dean's mouth, so he lets go, he steps back, and he doesn't stumble though the shadows on the cemetery ground make it look open and ransacked by the dead with nothing left but the crooked tombstones to mark where everyone will end up someday.

He steps away, shifting the bag on his shoulder before brushing past Dean, since nothing's happened and nothing will happen and he has nothing to say, it's just another day, he'll eat salt later, his tongue swollen, he'll eat salt later if he has to, to fix and ward off more spreading damage from the crack he's already caused, he'll pour salt into the wound and rub it clean.

Behind him, Dean doesn't make a sound and Sam doesn't look back, isn't going to and he's reminded of Lot's wife, so he won't look back and when he hears the clink of the shovels that Dean's carrying, he still doesn't look back because there's bad luck and then there's their bad luck and this is only another thing Sam's gotten wrong, such a crying shame.

Then the last of the sunshine disappears like lightning. Sam keeps moving, dodging headstones and listening to the salt and kerosene in the backpack rattle around; these are the things that make up his bones and blood, and he'll need them, more than ever, because he kissed Dean, he broke the only rule he's ever upheld, and there's only so much you can do on your own before you turn to old wives' tales and folk remedies and rituals with salt rings and symbols written in fire.

Dean calls his name and Sam stops, but doesn't turn around, can't look at his brother, can't look him in the eye or glance at his mouth, and he waits like a doomed hand is hovering over him, but all Dean says is, “You passed the grave, dummy.”

Sam has to circle around an angel with its hands and wings outspread, a posture of miserable beseeching, maybe on behalf of the dead or possibly the damned, which is tragically appropriate. The wind is picking up as he gets to the grave Dean's standing at, his head tilted as he reads the inscription.

As they begin to dig, Sam glances up at the sky. It's supposed to rain, but the clouds are listless and thin. There's a ring around the moon, which promises trouble, and they always expect trouble, but Sam's already brought it down tonight like it's his birthright, like he's fulfilled the moon's prophecy ahead of schedule.

He doesn't know what to say and Dean hums under his breath and it's just another day, a day cut short by Sam's misguided intentions, sealed with a kiss, and with Dean's blind insistence, tomorrow will be just another day, a day of being on the road and stopping to piss on wooden fence posts and balancing coffee with every dip and sway of the car, silence under the howl of the music, all because Sam somehow found Dean in the lost half-dark and dragged him close enough to do damage.

Their shovels hit the coffin at the same time, and that’s how it should be, that might be why Sam did what he did, why it was so easy for Sam to put his hands on him, and they don’t say anything, simply break into the coffin.

Sam pulls himself out of the grave and he’s never been able to shake the feeling that he’s coming back to life, and right then, Dean grabs the hem of his jeans. 

“Hey, Sammy.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, turning on his knees to look down at Dean, his brother sweating and dust-streaked in the ground, and when Dean shakes his head, dirt falls off him as if he’s crumbling.

Dean looks like he’s going to say one thing, but he says another, says, “You see Mr. What’s-His-Face around anywhere?”

“You mean, Schwarz?”

“Yeah, Schmidt, Schwarz, whatever, you see ‘em?”

Sam doesn’t even look over his shoulder, just shrugs and stands, because he doesn’t know why Dean’s asking now and he doesn’t care. “Nah, maybe he’s busy, you know, doing his vengeful spirit duties.”

“Fucking vengeful spirits,” Dean says, tossing up his shovel and Sam nods at that, amen, brother, amen, and then he remembers, he loves his brother, he did something really stupid tonight, damned shame, since he loves his brother and it’s fucked up how much he loves his brother and how much he’s trashed things tonight, with the ring around the moon and Dean coming up out of the ground, his eyes lit in the shadows like the fucking vengeful spirit he was just cursing.

Then Dean’s next to him, jittering as if he’s nervous and he jostles Sam, smearing dirt on Sam’s shirt, says, “Hey, man, salt, where’s the salt, don’t tell me you forgot the salt.”

“Dean,” Sam says, “ _Dean_ ,” but Dean isn’t listening, rummaging around for the salt and he finds the kerosene, handing it to Sam without looking and Sam sighs, flicking the lighter, and maybe some things are only fixed with fire, he can try to forget what’s happened here after they’ve burned the bones and moved on.

Dean pours the salt and Sam pours the kerosene and ain’t that the truth of things. 

The ghost appears right before Sam tosses the lighter and “shit,” Dean says, “it’s Schmidt,” and Sam’s saying, “Schwarz,” but it doesn’t matter because he’s slammed hard up under the ribs, knocked into the grave and Dean raises his gun, fires, yelling, “Sonuva _bitch_.”

Bones and coffin and he’s landed like one of the shovels, everything broken and splintered and now he smells of kerosene. Another gunshot and Dean says, “Sammy,” and he’s saying, “Yeah, I’m coming,” and he has to force his body out of the cracked coffin, off the smashed bones, he’ll need to sain once he gets back onto solid ground, hallowed ground, because he’s kissed his brother and he’s desecrated a grave beyond anything they usually do and now he’s bleeding all over bones that aren’t his, a resting place that isn’t his.

He’s out of the grave, breathing through the kerosene and there’s a hiss of cold, then a rush of warmth as Dean tosses matches, so Sam scrambles back, it’d be his fate to catch fire here after so many other close calls.

He closes his eyes. 

Tiny rocks near his spine and he aches like he hasn’t in a long time, but it’s all right, he’ll take it, he’ll let his blood stain his skin and clothes, it’s that flavor of tragically appropriate and when he opens his eyes, he sees the stone angel imploring for something, maybe redemption or a reckoning, Sam might need both and he understands what the angel wants with its eyes on the skies. Then Dean moves into his field of vision and Sam’s briefly confused because Dean reaches out to him, saying, “Dude, you okay, what the hell.”

As he sits up, blood runs down his chin, down his throat and he can feel it between his chest and his shirt, Dean watching him as if this is anything other than a graveyard fight, outside the realm of their typical boxing matches with the angry departed, and Sam says, “Schwarz had a hell of a left hook.” 

A huff of breath from his brother as Dean hunches down, wiping the blood off Sam’s face, but he’s only smearing it, Sam can tell, sticky and slick, so he pulls away. Kerosene or no kerosene, Sam can still taste those brief seconds of his mouth against Dean’s, and the mixture is starting to make him sick, he can’t forever associate Dean with kerosene, as if he hasn’t lost or broken enough things along his crooked path. But he lets Dean help him up and they don’t rebury Schwarz, just let him burn like judgment or _requiescat in pace_ , and away from the fire of his bones and coffin, the night is getting darker and the moon has risen higher, the ring easier to see, exactly like the trouble it’s expected.

This time, Sam carries the shovels, and Dean carries the pack, and this isn’t a repeat of what came before, just a few hours ago, this isn’t a loop, Sam isn’t going to look for Dean in the dark and find him and make him gasp with something that sounds closely like shame. Sam walks, watching the ground, avoiding the tombstones and long ago they gave up walking around graves instead of over them because at some point in their lives, they were going to step on the dead and it didn’t really matter when, and Sam thinks that it was sooner rather than later, and then he thinks that he kissed Dean sooner rather than later, but in the grand scheme of things, the overreaching story of them, it only means that Sam’ll be alone on the side of the road sooner rather than later when Dean can’t look him in the eye again, can’t sit still next to him in the car, can’t stand to be around this person he thought was his trusted baby brother.

The car is patient and dusty on the overgrown little backroad that led them here, and Sam wants to touch her and apologize, tell her that he’ll probably be leaving, again, he’s going to break her heart like he’s broken Dean’s, again, and that seems to be his job, to leave, and maybe she’ll understand because that’s all she does too, she leaves, only usually he’s going with her.

Dean opens the trunk and says, “Sam.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, and for now, he’ll just open the shotgun door and lean on it, a bad habit he’s never gotten rid of, his dad and then later Dean yelling at him about it.

“You hit your head?”

“What?”

“Did you hit your head?” Dean asks, slamming the trunk shut and coming around to Sam’s side.

“Uh, I don’t think so,” Sam says, pushing fingers into his hair. His head doesn’t hurt, so it must be another random question from Dean, one of those inscrutable parts of Dean, he likes to ask questions, though he’ll give this to Dean, this one has merit since they’re regularly injured.

Bouncing the keys in his palm, Dean says, “No, I mean earlier.” 

“Earlier?”

“Yeah. You know. When.”

And Sam understands. “No.”

“So that’s ruled out,” Dean says. “Guess that means you’ve lost your mind.”

Sam thinks again, amen, brother, amen, and says, “That your professional opinion?”

“I call it like I see it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not a professional.”

Dean shrugs and the keys jangle. “We all know you’re a filthy liar.”

And this is it, this is may be why Sam lost his mind, Dean grinning like everything’s been right from the get-go, nothing will ever be wrong and it’s almost a promise of some sort, and this is it, Sam thinks, this is why, it’s Dean’s fault, of course it is, Dean like the salt and kerosene, Dean like Sam’s bones and blood, and his mind was already a foregone conclusion.

Sam smiles back because he has to, even though the moon has warned him, he smiles back.

The keys jangle over and over and over.

When Dean kisses Sam, it’s in the dark, under clear skies defiant of rain and they’re ignoring omens and signs to do this and Sam’s trying not to think, I broke him.

But it’s possible Sam’s breaking too, or they seem to break the same, Dean pushing Sam against the open door, the keys falling against the glass when he drops them, they seem to break the same and Sam won’t have to leave and the wind is picking up, the smell of kerosene sharp on Sam’s jacket and if they’re not careful, they’ll catch fire, a sideways destiny if there ever was one.

They’ll catch fire out here by the silent graves, pressed close enough to do damage, maybe then they’ll rest in peace, and Dean is talking against Sam’s mouth, but Sam can’t hear it.


End file.
